


Best Nap Ever

by TwitchPotter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: At the bunker, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Humor, M/M, One Shot, SUCH FLUFF, Still awful at tags, Swearing, lets pretend Castiel is capable of sleeping, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwitchPotter/pseuds/TwitchPotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The really short one where Dean just wants to sleep but Castiel has apparently decided that Dean's bed is more comfortable than his own and laid claim to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Nap Ever

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I think there was crack in my Cheerios or something, because this is the second thing I wrote today! It may be completely stupid, but I was sitting here, thinking of little Destiel drabbles, and I was stuck with the image of a really grumpy Dean standing in the doorway of his own bedroom, just staring at hi bed, where Cas has basically made a nest of blankets. That's all. Please read, and comment! Let me know what you think! <3

I’ve just gotten home from a long day of research at the library in town and the only thing on my mind right now is taking the best nap of my goddamn life, but I can’t, because my bed is full of Castiel.

“Cas?” I ask him, but he doesn’t seem to be conscious, or even alive. I can’t tell if he’s breathing still because he’s burrowed himself into my blankets like a fucking bear hibernating for winter.

I walk over to him and poke the mountain of puffy fabric.

“Castiel.”

“Nrghfl.”

Well that’s not a word in any language I know, but hey, he’s alive, so that’s a plus.

“Cas. Why are you in my bed?” I really wish I didn’t have to be living this experience right now, because I should, by every right, be sprawled out and in a very deep sleep. Like Cas seems to be.

Shockingly enough, the world is not going according to plan for me.

“S’comfy” he slurs, then shoves his face into the pillow, as if that will magically make me go away.

“You have a bed,” I point out, using my patient “Thou-shalt-not-kill” voice that I save for people like Garth (and Sam, when he was four and would eat the last of the Lucky Charms. Bitch.)

“Ungkh” is all I get in response to that little factoid.

“Cas!”

“Dean, I’m trying to sleep,” he grumbles, rolling over slightly and cracking open one eye. His hair is standing up like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket and his left cheek his pink with a pillow line on it. He looks like a crazed mental patient, and I want to take a picture more than anything because he’s so goddamn cute – Focus, Winchester. We have a mission.

“Yes, well so am I,” I tell him, gritting my teeth against the urge to ruffle his hair and make it even messier.

“I don’t see what’s stopping you,” he snarks at me, then rolls back over, apparently done with this conversation. Fine, if he’s going to be the absolute pinnacle of maturity, then I will be too.

“Okay, Cas,” I say, then quickly strip to my boxers and dive into the bed, squishing part of him under my weight.

“You’re right, it is comfy,” I smile at his disgruntled pout, yanking the blankets so they cover me too, instead of wrapping around his legs like a fucking burrito of down feathers.

“You’re very rude,” he tells me, then yanks his limbs out from under my body, situating himself next to me and ignoring me again in favor of blessed sleep.

Whatever. I smirk at the ceiling and quickly drift off myself. Winchester 1, World 0.

 

* * *

 

I wake up choking to death and warm as fuck, possibly because there’s a six foot man who’s wrapped himself around my body like a fucking sloth to a tree branch. His face is pressed to my chest and he might be drooling, but I’ve never slept better in my entire life. I tilt my head down and press a kiss to the top of his forehead, unable to resist. He responds by sleepily shoving his hand at my face, which really doesn’t help the choking situation because now I’ve got half of his hand suffocating me, along with his entire body just chilling on top of mine, making it a good bit harder for my lungs to do that whole "expanding and filling with air" thing. 

“What are you, an octopus?” I ask, shaking my head until his hand falls off, since he’s apparently fallen back asleep in the middle of robbing me of life-giving oxygen.

He doesn’t answer and I sigh, tangling one hand in his hair, resting the other where his shirt has ridden up on his hip a little.

Best nap of my goddamn life.

 


End file.
